The whole exchange happened so quickly that it seemed to be one fluid reaction to the knight’s thrust with his spear. Pius’s mule, still being reluctant to respond to its rider’s commands, started in surprise as the knight fell off his horse with a chingling thud. The other knight swore and kicked his own horse in the ribs, trying to get into a better position. He charged Kim, thrusting with his spear, but Kim was already moving to put the riderless horse between them.
The knight charged off into the fallow pasture beside the road, getting enough distance from Kim that he could turn his animal safely. Far enough to generate some speed on his return, making his mount an effective weapon as well. Not a bad tactic.
Kim picked up the fallen knight’s spear and took a moment to turn and poke Pius’s mule with the tip. Not enough to wound the animal, but enough to make it react. The mule reared, dumping Pius on the ground, and Kim turned his attention to the remaining knight.
The knight’s horse was still skittish, and when he didn’t charge immediately, Kim glanced over at the knight he had unseated, and seeing he was conscious, he stepped over and smacked the man in the head with the butt of his spear. Stay down.
The knight abandoned his horse. The animal was too uncontrollable, and Kim was surrounded by supine bodies and other animals. There was no advantage to charging into that mix. On the ground, at least, they would be more equally classed. He approached Kim cautiously, his spear held in a grip that positioned the weapon across his body—butt near his head, point directed at the ground. It didn’t seem that aggressive of a stance, and so Kim remained still, the tip of his spear pointed at his approaching adversary. Waiting for him to make a move.
As the knight came closer, he raised his tip slightly, and then he came on in a rush, beating Kim’s point aside to clear the line for a thrust. Kim, moving more quickly, stepped into the man’s attack—past the lazy point that would have struck him had he remained still. He brought the butt end of his spear around in a quick smash to the man’s head. The knight pulled up short, yanking his head back, and only caught part of Kim’s butt against his helmet. His eyes widened as he realized where his face was, and he tried to pull back even farther as Kim drove the end of the spear into his nose.
Cartilage crunched and blood spewed out of the man’s broken nose. Kim stepped back with his left leg, putting some distance between them now, and he brought the tip of his spear up and around, smacking the other man’s spear down so that the point buried itself in the ground. The man tried to hang on to his weapon. His face was a mass of blood and snot, and his teeth were bared as if he could scare Kim off with his monstrous expression.
Kim—centered, coiled, calm—looked him in the eye and then snapped his hips forward, driving all his energy up his trunk, into his arms, and into the arc of the moving spear. The impact—high on the knight’s chest, above the red cross on his surcoat—lifted him off his feet.
He landed in a heap and made no move to rise. Kim tossed both spears toward the cluster of trees, far enough away that no one would think of them as readily accessible, and returned to the fallen priest.
Pius was senseless, more from nerves and shock than any obvious blow to the head, but he was still breathing. Kim didn’t waste any time trying to revive him; he had had enough of the priest’s scurrilous behavior. He rummaged through the man’s satchel and found what he was looking for. In fact, he found more than one.
Hans was at his elbow suddenly, pulling at his sleeve. “The guards,” the young man said, pointing. A handful of Mongolians, astride their short ponies, were coming in their direction from the bridge. “We need to go.”
Kim fumbled with the pair of small scrolls. Neither was sealed, though it looked like one had been at one time—there were still bits of wax stuck to the edge. They both seemed to start with the same letters. Kim Alcheon, Last of the Flower Knights, to Feronantus…he imagined the words read. The unsealed one appeared to have been written more hurriedly, though what it said he could not divine.
“There is no time,” Hans said, trying to get his attention.
Kim grabbed the young man’s shirt and thrust both scrolls at him. “The Shield-Brethren,” he said, holding Hans’s attention. Is there someone you could trust more? “Are they honorable?”
Hans squirmed in his grip, clearly more concerned about the approaching Mongols than a conversation about honor.
Kim held him tight. “Will they protect you?”
Hans stopped and met Kim’s gaze. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, they will.”
“Go, then,” Kim said, taking a quick glance at the approaching riders. “Take them these messages. One of them is true. One is not. Both may have value to them. They will understand.” They have to; my time has run out. He shoved Hans toward the trees. “Run, Hans. Run all the way.”